


fragments

by supersmall



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Allagan Bullshit: Now in the era it came from!, Canonical Character Death, Corruption, Grief/Mourning, Harold they're gay, Let Cid Be A Dad, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painplay, Sexual Humor, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2019, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wax Play, Zenos and his battle boner, gratuitous dick jokes, of the non-sexy kind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-13 12:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersmall/pseuds/supersmall
Summary: Collected prompt fills for FFXIVwrite2019 on Tumblr. Spoilers up to the end of Shadowbringers.[Newest prompt: #21 - Crunch.    "Shite, that was going to be a pain to deal with later, both the bone and the bird."]





	1. voracious

**Author's Note:**

> hello I haven't uploaded any writing outside of roleplaying since I was 11 so uhhh Please Look Forward To It!  
don't expect quality or length, i'm just here for a good time ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> everything is cross-posted from my tumblr @ chizuwu

His beast. His meddlesome, ferocious, awesome beast.

Ahh, how he wished to see such hateful rage adorn their face as their weapons sang. Perhaps it would be a cool, icy rage like the bite of winter, or unbridled and boiling like the depths of Hells’ Lid. The thought alone had him toying with the kashira of his beloved sword, imagining just how easily the blade would sink into their flesh–

But would that not ruin his dear friend? They were still mortal, bound by flesh and blood despite the sheer wondrous power of their soul. No, he would maim but not kill. Toy with his prey until they were writhing beneath him. He would allow them time to recover and heal, perhaps assist them himself in a rare moment of tenderness, then their battle would resume once more in a never-ending cycle of madness.

(Tenderness. The thought made him want to snarl. It would only be to ensure they were perfect for him, and him alone.)

He slid the katana from its sheath and studied his reflection in the blade. How would he look dyed in a mixture of both their blood, no telling where one ended and the other began? How would he look with bite marks adorning the length of his neck like medals of war?

(He would relinquish all his medals, all his worthless possessions to awaken to their face every morning–)

The katana is buried in the wall. That damned voice, claiming he held a modicum of care for his enemy.

(His first friend. His dearest friend.)

He wanted to see them fall at his feet, only to rise again to return the favour in a heated dance of hate.

(He wanted to see them rise at his side, only to fall beneath him, or even on top of him, in a heated dance of love.)

These thoughts, these cursed images, he didn’t know whether he wanted to indulge in the hunt or something far more unfamiliar to him.

Before he could consider his options, a loud banging at his chamber door snapped him from his reverie. A whimpering messenger bearing urgent news, the Warrior of Light had been sighted.

(His friend. His enemy…)

His love.

The hunt would begin once more.


	2. bargain

Amidst crumbling ruins slowly reclaimed by nature, the mark of Althyk sat almost untouched, mockingly so.  
The stone remained remarkably intact despite bearing the force of countless prayers and a Calamity, unlike the elezen stood before it. Rough burns and scars marked her flesh as a harsh reminder of her sins.

“…Why?”

She couldn’t stop the Calamity. She couldn’t protect her friends from being flung gods knows where and when, dead or alive.

How many lives had Eulalie failed on that day?

“If you’re set on divine punishment, you could have killed us. At least we would have been together!”

In a fit of anger, she pierced the stone with her lance, watching the small cracks form around it with a hollow sense of satisfaction. Yet the feeling was short-lived as she sank to her knees, tears flowing freely.

“I’ll give you anything to bring them home. Please, gods…”

The stone remained still, and the gods stayed silent.


	3. lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ShB spoilers ahead!

The dark, winding streets should have been easy to get lost in, yet every twist and turn felt like home to Fuyuka.

Home was simple streets, the warmth of a hearth in every home to keep out the seemingly endless winters. Amaurot was older than that, home to something buried deep in her soul.

In her deep thoughts, she failed to notice one of the ghostly residents approach until a large hand pat her on the head and the strange language echoed in her mind.

“Oh dear, are you lost little one? Your loved ones must be worried.” The Amaurotine’s voice was soft, as if they were talking to a scared child. Fuyuka bit back a frustrated sigh as she shook her head.

Seemingly ignorant to her frustration, the Amaurotine chuckled and scooped the Auri women in their arms, cradling her close.

“No need to fear, little one. We will find your home soon enough.” Fuyuka let out an ungainly splutter at the treatment.

“Unhand me right now! I am not a child, you giant–”

“Ahaha, such a feisty little one. You would make a passionate student if we had the time.” The Amaurotine smiled dotingly behind the mask, as if Fuyuka wasn’t wriggling angrily in their gasp.

As the Amaurotine wandered, looking for her supposed home, Fuyuka’s energy waned until she could only offer an irritated glare at the masked giant and pray that G’raha wasn’t watching from the Tower.


	4. shifting blame

“Back rather late, are we?” Cihye froze at her friend’s voice coming from the table. Like a father, Thancred sat waiting for her with a knowing smirk. “I would have expected you to camp out if you were in the wilds for so long.”

_Shite._ Cihye’s face paled as her mind raced to find an excuse.

“Ah- Y-you know… Y'shtola asked me to gather something, and she really needs it tonight-”

“Is that so? I don’t recall asking such a thing.” _Double shite._ Cihye had been so focused on Thancred, she had failed to notice Y'shtola in the room.

“D-did I say Y'shtola? I meant, ah… Tataru! There was a specific herb she wanted for some tea, and it was a pain to find…” She couldn’t meet their eyes, face draining more when she sensed Thancred’s smirk grow.

“Funny that. I had no idea they were growing in the Ironworks workshop, or that they took so _long_ to find. Was it _hard_ to _grasp_ them?”

“No!” Her voice cracked with panic. “No, I had other deliveries to drop off. Just a couple favours. No big deal.”

The pair seemed to accept the excuse for a moment, allowing Cihye time to start slipping away to her room. She almost reached the door that lead to their chambers when Y'shtola spoke up again.

“Did those favours involve picking up anything? Specifically a certain president’s aether?”

_Oh. Oh gods no. No no no no–_

Her face went from sheet white to a blazing red in seconds.

“Nope, nothing, not at all, good to see you both, goodnight!” With that she threw the door open and almost ran towards her room, ignoring the chuckles behind her.

“…Should we tell her that she reeks of ceruleum?”

“Only if you tell me how much of his aether you can see inside her.” Y'shtola sighed deeply at his question.

“If you must know…” Another sigh, but it gave way to a knowing smirk. “An impressive amount.”

The embarrassed squeak down hall gave all they answers they needed.


	5. vault

The wind whipped through her short hair, bringing with it a chill that raised goosebumps on her skin, yet she barely shivered or flinched.

Just like that day, the sunset cast a golden glow on the Vault. Had it not been for what occurred, she would have gasped in awe of its beauty and considered sneaking up with her lover. Instead, all she could see was the pool of blood long scrubbed away, his pierced body growing colder with every minute as all life abandoned him.

Cihye took a deep breath and blinked away the tears. Her grip on the bouquet tightened.

Forget-me-nots. The vibrant blue reminded her of him, both in colour and energy. The same flowers he had given her before she left to battle Garuda.

The bundle was lay on the stone, the same place he once lay. She watched as the wind picked up and blew a loose flower away, twirling away until it was gone from her sight.

Between gusts of cold wind, a warm breeze suddenly enveloped her like a hug. It roped around her front and settled heavy on her back and head, just like…

Cihye smiled, and this time she didn’t stop the tears.


	6. first steps

As the ship finally docked, Naran was the first to run onto land, staring out at the rolling waves and towering white stone.

This was it! This was the place she had seen in her visions, down to the very finest detail

So entranced by the view, she didn’t react to the sailors and cargo jostled around her until a large hand pat her shoulder.

“Welcome to Eorzea, kid. Might want to move before yer knocked int’ the sea.” The roegadyn, Syhrmoht, gently maneuvered her away from the crowd where it was safer. Naran laughed awkwardly, earning her a curious look.

“One small problem. I… don’t know where I’m going from here.” Syhrmoht sighed at her sheepish confession.

“Ye travel ‘alfway across the star to follow some vision and ye don’t even… Alright, kid, come with me. I’ll get ye set up in one o’ the guilds.”

Naran grinned, and she saw the infectious smile returned.

“Lead the way, my new sailor friend!”


	7. forgiven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ShB spoilers ahead!

Earth-shattering pain overtook Cihye’s senses. Her body was already wracked with coughs until something came up. Through the fuzzy edges of her vision she saw not bile, but pure, blinding white. Before she could wallow in her fear the coughs returned to bring up more of the white. Faintly she registered something dripping down her skin.

“No more strength left to fight, have we?” Gloved hands tilted her chin up, forcing her to stare into molten gold eyes.

“Y- you–” Talking hurt. It only brought up more vile white.

“Now, now, don’t fight it. Let it consume you.” The smug, velvety voice was both grating yet soothing, an anchorage amidst the crashing waves of agony. She attempted to glare, but the dripping substance was quickly trickling into her eyes.

More vile, blissful white.

A voice inside told her to let go, to do as he said and let the agonizing bliss take her. She fought desperately to deny it through another round of retching, but it was swiftly growing louder.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

It would be easier.

“There you go, my beautiful creature.” He must have taken his gloves off, as the cool sensation of flesh cupped her cheek, making her sigh shakily in relief.

The more she tried to relax, to ease into the light, the less it seemed to pain her. His hand left her cheek and she tried to chase it, only to fall from her knees to the floor. Distantly, she heard him chuckle before a foreign sound began to surround her. Through the final cracks of her eyes, she could see a cocoon taking shape.

“Goodnight, my dear. We will meet again soon, when you have finally become what you must.”

The cocoon closed tight, and Cihye Mocchasu faded into an endless sleep.

Only Forgiveness would awaken.


	8. meeting

While their parents conversed in terms still above their ken, blue eyes met gold.

Two years younger than himself, the dark-haired boy was still shorter than others his age, though Varis’s only frame of reference was his own family, often far taller than average. Panic was barely concealed on the boy’s face by propriety, the thought of his parents drilling him on proper etiquette better suited for adults tinged his heart with guilt. They were to be companions, according to his father, not any kind of formal alliance or master-servant.

Making certain the adults were too distracted to notice, he took his hand and pulled them both out of earshot of the group.

“What’s your name?” The sudden yet simple question threw the boy off for a moment.

“W-what? I mean, pardon?”

“What is your name? You must have one.” He leaned in curiously, ignoring how the boy leaned back in return.

“Regula, your Highness. E-eldest son of Cicero van Hydrus. Um, your Highness…” Varis frowned at his answer and the boy paled. “Did I offend you, your-”

“Enough with the formalities, I get it enough from others. Are we not to be friends?”

If Regula answered, he didn’t hear it, his father’s voice bellowing throughout the hall suddenly. Regula flinched but Varis hardly acknowledge it.

“Does he do that often?” Regula whispered. Varis could only shrug.

“You get used to it after some time. Mother locks him in the gardens sometimes until he calms down.”

Contrary to the indifference or strangely pitied look others gave him, Regula stifled a laugh instead. A look of shame crossed his faced when he realised, but it was quickly gone when Varis smiled.

“…I’ve never been inside the palace before. It must be difficult to remember where everything is.”

“Not if you take the time to memorize it all.” He held out a hand to his friend. “If we sneak out now, we might be able to return before they notice.”

For the first time that morning, Regula smiled without shame and took his hand.


	9. hesitate

Livia Junius was not a woman known to hesitate. The last time she would admit to doing so it had cost her an eye, a home, and her entire family.

Yet for the first time in many years, she found herself hesitating out of uncertainty and fear like a child, like a _coward._

She had successfully managed to lay low for a time, hiding any signs of her race and identity as she frequently traveled between the savage lands. Of all of them, Coerthas was the only one she actively avoided staying in overnight, the cold winds and mountains of snow reminding her far too much of Garlemald. She didn't dare wake up with the familiar chill in her bones to reignite a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, she had returned somehow.

No matter how desperately she avoided the snow-laden land, news would ever be faster than herself. Ishgard was to rejoin the Alliance, lead by their newly appointed leader and his right-hand woman.  
She couldn't care less about his name, only hers.

Lucia.

Her own traitor of a sister had only gone and climbed the ranks of Ishgard after her sudden disconnect from the Empire. 'Missing in Action', they had claimed to save face.

Getting into Ishgard unaccompanied with a falsified identity would be impossible even now, not without someone trusted to back it up. So she waited, and waited, stuck in this all too familiar yet far too foreign climate for a hint of news that Lucia would be leaving the gates at any time.

Her agonizing waiting had paid off. In the back of her mind, she could almost hear Rhitahtyn praising her for finally learning patience.

From her place in the shadows, she watched the tall, blonde woman exit the building, taking a moment to breathe after dealing with the fool of a lordling that ran the keep.

Livia lowered her hood, almost ready to go over to her and... what?

Slap her, punch her, spit in her face, tell her just how much of a mess she caused, how much she hurt her, how shameful she was to call herself Lucia's sister when she found out.

Or hug her, just for a while, and ask if she had finally found happiness here, playing the knight in shining armour like when they were young.

Lucia looked towards her, and she held her breath.

In that long, aching moment, she could have sworn she saw a familiar smile before her sister turned and entered the building once more.

For the first time since the day she lost everything again, something in Livia's heart felt lighter. With nobody to see it, she returned the smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this house we pray that livia had lived and got the character development she deserved


	10. snuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, don't do this at home kids. Zenos is just horny for big pain.

To have nearly an entire candle melted down and dripped on their body would send even the hardiest of people into a fit of begging for mercy.

Zenos yae Galvus, as you were well aware, was beyond the realms of 'most people'.

Thin trails of hardened crimson wax decorated his torso, the few trickles yet to harden glistening like blood in the low light. Small pools gathered where you only granted him a few drops and in the crevices of his straining muscles. Every new drip of the molten wax sent a jolt of pleasurable pain rippling through his body.

But not once so far had he begged.

"Is that the best you can give me, Warrior?" He gave a low chuckle, almost weary sounding. You frowned and let another large drop fall on his chest, taking a moment to relish in the way he strained against his bonds. The hiss of pain was music to your ears.

"What was that?" His eyes followed you carefully as you directed the candle closer towards his stiffened cock. Both of you knew that you wouldn't dare, not if it risked any future fun, but the concept alone was enough to make him gulp in anticipation and his length twitch. He swallowed a pitiful noise as you leaned down to breath a cool puff of air on the head.

"The candle will burn out soon. Would you deprive me of release after so long--" A strangled groan cut his taunts off. You watched the red droplet trail down the apex of his thigh until it pooled underneath his ass.

"Perhaps I will." Your gaze was cold as it met his heated gaze. "I could leave you here, tied up and aching until morning for acting like such a royal brat. You would be my waiting prey all night, with no way to please yourself."

Something in his expression shifted. You had him right where you wanted.

"Give it to me. Claim me, stoke that fire inside us to a raging inferno. You want it as much as I." You watched him with a raised eyebrow, pretending his rough voice wasn't sending heat straight to your sex.

"What's the magic word?" 

He growled, and you only grinned in response.

"Wrong answer."

Without giving him time to anticipate it, you snuffed out the flame directly on the sensitive skin above his groin.

Zenos groaned your name between ragged breaths and near-pained moans, his body writhing in a beautiful mix of intense pain and pleasure. His hips arched, and you could only watch as ropes of thick white joined with red like artwork.

"Yes, yesss, mark me-- _Claim_ me, make it _hahh,_ hurt...!" A strangled shout, his eyes rolled back and his body went taut one last time before he collapsed with a tired, relieved laugh. He only moved again when you released his bonds, pulling you onto his chest despite your protests.

"You're sticky." You whined. He responded with a grunt and held you tighter.

"Hush. You are the one who complains that I often 'ruin the mood', are you not?" You couldn't see his smirk from your position, but you could damn well feel it.

"Hush yourself, or I really will leave you here next time." He gave a rumble of laughter at your threat. It wasn't long before his breath evened out in peaceful slumber. For a moment you considered cleaning up, but one look at his dreaming face changed your mind.

It could wait for the morning.


	11. fingers crossed

It had almost become a ritual of theirs. Ask Cihye not to die, see that knowing smile cross her face, and watch as she ran headfirst into battle against some wayward deity or another. They both knew she would always return, yet the fear that perhaps this would be the one that felled her led them to repeat it time and time again.

Were Cid a more openly selfish man, he would admit that letting her go off into danger wasn’t just for the sake of the realm, but to witness her expressions every time.

A half-smile before she leaves, filled with fear pushed down by confidence and hope, both Cihye’s own and those counting on her.

The determined expression as she slipped back into her role of hero. He had been lucky enough to see it amplified during battle, and he would be lying if he said it hadn’t fueled some late night thoughts while she was away.

The relieved smile when she returned. The thought alone never compared to the sight itself, enough to banish any darkness clouding his thoughts. He only stopped looking when she sagged against him, face buried in his coat, exhausted but happy to be home.

Cid never had to cross his fingers in the hopes she would return to him. That little request alone was enough for both of them.


	12. wax

Fuyuka would never admit, unless on fear of death (or Lalafellin blackmail), that she had kept an orderly collection of wax seals used in letters sent to her. So often were linkpearls and simple notes used that there was rarely any need for them, making her collection all the more special. Few used seals, fewer still used any unique stamps. She could easily tell who had sent her a letter just by the seal.

Y'shtola had a preference for a pale seafoam green and a standard Sharlayan stamp until the lifestream stole her sight. Both knew the reason why letters stopped coming, neither spoke of it in an unsaid agreement.

Tataru had only used a standard red and common Ul'dahn pattern but began using unique swirls of colour and novelty marks shortly after Fuyuka moved in. It wasn't difficult to figure out she had found the collection somehow and was adding to it.

The only person who had admitted to knowing was Urianger. They had long since given up on using linkpearls for anything less than urgent news, instead writing of whatever came to mind. Before long Fuyuka found herself buying stamps in sets of two, just to send one back to him.

(She would never admit, even on fear of death, that her heart beat just a little faster when his letters arrived and he responded in kind to her compliments, her wishes some days to simply stay in his company and retire to the life of a scholar, her Far Eastern poetry with Eorzean and Sharlayan.)

Any seals from the deceased were kept separate, quite literally out of sight, out of mind. A blue standard Sharlayan seal, a clearly handcrafted axe in the same blue hue, the Fortemps family crest in deep red, a crimson recreation of some Allagan symbol.

Any time Fuyuka looked at the smaller box, she moved it further under the bed. A bout of grief pushed aside for the future to deal with.

For now, she was happy to keep that box from needing to be opened any more and simply add to the main collection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took every bone in my gremlin body to not post the nsfw zenos twice lbr.


	13. jitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's pretend i didn't miss the last few days of prompts thanks to chugging some depresso juice. any missing at the end of the month i'll just do after and slot in as they're completed.

The moment the chirurgeon left with a nod his way, Cid had to restrain himself from sprinting into the room to see his wife.

If Cihye hadn't been laid in bed with damp skin and blood-soaked sheets, he could have easily mistaken her for resting after a long, exhausting journey.

That, and the tiny bundle cradled in her arms.

The brief reprieve from his anxieties ended as he reached the foot of the bed. What if the child was like him and a lifetime of rejection, of feeling like a stranger everywhere they went awaited? He couldn't ask them to hide what they were, but to not do so would open them up to endless vitriol from those who didn't know better. Either family name would only protect them so much, soon enough there would be youths who couldn't care less, adults who didn't care for names so long as he bore his ancestors' legacy--

As if reading his fears, Cihye smiled warmly at him.

"A little miqo'te girl."

A weight immediately lifted from his shoulders.

Cid finally found himself able to move once more to her side and peek into the blankets. Steel-blue eyes and a shock of downy white hair greeted him, two tiny folded ears just visible where the blankets had shifted.

But just as the peace had arrived, the anxiety settled again.

"What if I become like them?" His voice sounded so small to his ears. "If you were to die and I neglected her for my work, or gods forbid pushed her down a path she won't ever find happiness in..." _I would rather die._ Unspoken yet it hung heavy in the air. His thoughts continued to spiral down the path of what-ifs, of someday finding himself just like Gaius and Midas, leaving him oblivious to Cihye adjusting his arms to place the infant in until the bundle began to squirm.

_So fragile. So small._ He _made_ this, not like another machine but a living, breathing _person_ and gods above he wanted to shout it from the mountains.

_His daughter._

"I was thinking Celia." _Heavens._ How fitting. A calloused finger stretched out to brush against her cheek but found itself caught in a little fist. All at once, any anxiety was banished. He would do anything in his power to protect both of them without repeating the sins of his fathers.

Ignoring the tears beginning to trail down his cheeks, he leant down to press a feather-light kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, Celia."


	14. obeisant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHB spoilers ahead, mind your step!

When the rest of the court knelt in both respect and fear before his son, one lone figure stood defiant.

The so-called Warrior of Light from Meracydia.

The noble Allagan dress of a diplomat seemed to wear her, clearly nothing she was used to, yet the jewellery of her homeland fit like a part of her. Waist-length ginger hair framed her body like a cape of fire in the heat of the moment.

Emet-Selch smirked under his hood, entertained, while the rest of the court fearfully held their breath.

Xande did not rise from his throne, but the anger rolled off him in waves at the mere notion of being disrespected.

“You,” Barely restrained fury in his voice echoed throughout the crystalline palace. “Who do you think you are to defy me?” The woman held her head high, unflinching and fearless.

“Branwen.” Xande’s eyes narrowed.

“Branwen, _Your Radiance_.”

“I would rather not be referred to as yours nor radiant. My name or Warrior of Light shall suffice.”

Jaws dropped and a few coughs to disguise laughter came from the crowd, only fueling Xande’s rage.

“Meracydia sent their finest, I see. A disobedient slip of a _girl_ who doesn’t know her place. I expected better from their Warrior of Light.” He spat the name as if it were a curse.

“If I may, _Your Radiance_,” The title was not in respect, but mockery, “To get so riled up over a mere ‘slip of a girl’ is rather unsightly, is it not? I had expected better from such a powerful leader.”

The silence tension hung heavy like a cloud of smoke.

“Unless, of course… This land was not yours to rule in the first place. Like Meracydia, and all the other lands you and your armies have desecrated in your lust for power.”

“Insolent savage–” Before he could rush as her, Emet-Selch pushed him back down to the throne with a hand and some unseen force.

“Calm yourself, boy.” The Emperor quietly growled at the name. “It would look poorly on Allag if you were to kill their precious hero in her bid for peace.”

For a moment, the woman almost seemed to falter. His smirk grew.

“Leave her to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this unfinished as fuck? Yes. Do I care? BIG YES.  
If any prompts work, I'll absolutely be continuing this. I've wanted to write about a Meracydian WoL from Allag's era for along time now.


	15. wilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers for the end of ShB and lots of dick jokes.

Had it not been for both Hestia’s habit of experimenting and Hades inviting himself in when he was bored (which was often), he might not have found his way through the literal forest of fluffy, cotton-like… things. Once he finally located his friend, he watched with amusement as she created another, now identifiable as some kind of tree, only for it to droop and wilt near-instantly.

“Struggling to keep it up, are we?” Hades failed to keep the amicably mocking tone from his voice. Hestia whipped her head around, notably maskless with her hood down, to glare at him.

“Interrupting work with innuendoes, _are we?_”

“I fail to see what fuzzballs,” He picked off a stray piece of fluff caught on his robes. “Has to do with work.” Where most would have brushed off his comment or been offended, Hestia smiled proudly with that familiar, challenging look in her eyes.

“Halmarult tasked me with creating a more suitable habitat for the moogles, one outside of urban landscapes.” To her surprise, Hades frowned.

“Has he forgotten you specialize in domestics? Or is he too preoccupied chasing students out of the more private corners of the greenhouses?” Not that the two of them were entirely innocent of using said areas in their younger days.

“Ah, well, about that…” The sheepish look on her face said more than enough. Halmarult was punishing her for the very creation he had tasked her with caring for and their _unfortunate_ temperament, a result of her distraction.

A distraction he repeatedly refused to claim responsibility for.  
The memory alone was giving him new ideas. Feigning innocence, he casually wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“It is clear your mind is not in the right place. All you need is some guidance and to relax.” She looked at him suspiciously but gave in quickly.

“Go on, then. Work your magic.” She sighed. Hades smirked and moved behind her, both hands inching down her arms to lift them into position. His voice lowered as he spoke softly.

“Do you recall how they taught us to create more complex matter as children? Large hands to control our movements, a teacher guiding our thoughts in the right direction…” He continued, pretending not to feel the shiver that ran through her body. “Your fault is that you’re focusing on the foliage, not the trunk. Remember the basics, then play around.”

Hestia’s eyes had closed, breath steady as she tried to focus. Hades pressed closer to whisper in her ear, voice lowered again into a purr.

“A sturdy trunk to stand tall and proud, more long than thick but it always gets the job done. Perhaps a sweet sap to run through its centre, ripe for the taking when one needs to sate their thirst…” He chuckled softly at the quiet squeak she let out, her breaths coming heavier.

“Now… unleash that power of yours, my dear.”

She swallowed thickly. In an instant, the tree successfully stood before them, almost flawless… were it not for the two heads of down rather than one.

“My, my, something else on your mind? Your creation looks quite phallic… unless your precious moogles have a dirty side I’ve yet to see?” Hestia’s eyes snapped open and she squawked in embarrassment.

“Hades, you- You- You damned, distracting, filthy, no-good _bastard!_” Every insult was emphasised by a light punch to his chest that only made him laugh harder.

Unseen in their banter, the tree drooped once more.


	16. radiant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I forget about the concept of time and this prompt until the last minute? Am I also too tired to write anything better or longer for today? You fuckin bet!
> 
> ShB spoilers, y'all know the drill *finger guns*

Hestia’s soul had always been a sight to behold. Radiant and burning, like a flame that refused to die. Hades had seen souls affect the appearance of few across their reincarnations; some retained the same eye colour, others were forever loud and wild, or small and mild-mannered. But Hestia’s fragmented soul in the Source held so many similarities that he wondered if he was being punished.

The need to make music wherever she went, whether that be on the battlefield or the tabletop, a harp or her fingertips.

A head tilt when she slipped into thought. More than once, both in Amaurot and a select few lives, had he pushed up back up to her endless annoyance.

That very unpredictable flame fueling her soul manifest in fiery hair, sometimes framing her face like a hearth, other times long and free like a wildfire.

Always tainted by another’s radiance. Hydaelyn’s light buried and twisted in her soul, ensnaring it in her hold no matter how many lives may pass.

How it irritated him.

Somewhere in his tired heart, locked away beneath years of Zodiark’s influence, a desire lay to see the rejoining through just to free that radiance one more.


	17. crunch

Tristram barely noticed the pain from falling, instead focused on the sickening crunch of bone from his arm and the panicked scurrying of the wild chocobo escaping. _Shite_, that was going to be a pain to deal with later, both the bone and the bird.

He sat up groggily and glared at his partner. Rather than help, V'shuvu was doubled over in hysterical laughter as if he wasn’t the one to spook the chocobo in the first place.

“Marcechamp will have both our heads, you realise?” Tristram’s voice sounded strained to his own ears, pain slowly beginning to radiate from the break. V'shuvu finally stopped his laughing, but still grinned at the hyur.

“Aw, don’t worry Trissie. I’ll have my way with your head one last time before it’s lobbed off.~” The miqo'te wasn’t phased at all by Tristram’s unamused expression.

“Good to know you’re thinking with your privates when we could be in trouble.” He grunted as V'shuvu helped him up. His partner wrapped an arm around him, ignoring the quiet hiss of pain from the hyur.

“_Relax._ It’s one bird, he won’t throw us out for that. I’m more worried about your arm.” V'shuvu pinched Tristram’s sour face and cooed. “Don’t want to be all banged up when Lalie finally swings ‘round, hm?”

“…I supposed you’re right.” He grumbled. Neither of them knew when Eulalia would appear, only that she would at some point, bringing their former team up to three out of five. Tristram silently cursed his Echo for that ridiculous drawback.

“Come on, I’ll treat you when we get back, and I’m not talking food.~”

V'shuvu didn’t get a chance to comment on Tristram’s red face before he was being chased back to Tailfeather by the hyur, _lovingly_ reminding him how he still had three good limbs to punish him with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just want to thank all of you for the reception to this so far, especially for 1000+ hits and almost 50 kudos. i know it's not much but i genuinely expected this to get ignored or a couple lukewarm kudos if i was lucky. thank you all ;w;


End file.
